


Plumbing

by cupiscent



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Bodyswap, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-15
Updated: 2002-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-07 21:24:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/69384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupiscent/pseuds/cupiscent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dom wakes up, and the world has changed.  A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"I wish I had not woke up today."  
Garbage - Dog New Tricks

*

"Take a week off," PJ told them, pushed beyond anger to the calm on the other side. "Go and do whatever it is you people do when you're not fucking up my movie."

They went back to the hotel and lined up along the bar, a row of disconsolate faces and potent spirits.

"Fucking hell," Orlando declared, speaking for all of them. "Could that have gone any more wrong?"

They drank to that. The bartender refilled their drinks. It was going to be one of those nights.

At some stage in the ebb and flow, Dom found himself standing at the bar next to Viggo. Dom was waiting for another drink. Viggo was tilting his glass, watching the whiskey run over and around the ice. There was a little bubble of silence, and Dom felt faintly uncomfortable through the pleasant buzz of alcohol. Viggo did this to him. He was never quite sure how to communicate with him once it got past the usual banter. He felt slightly inadequate.

"Good whiskey?" he asked.

Viggo looked up, quirked that half smile of his. "About matches the rest of the day."

They laughed, and Dom's drink arrived, and he fled while he could.

Some time and many drinks later, Dom left the bar, meandered across the hotel lobby to the lifts. Liv was already waiting, in about the same state as him. They leaned against the mirrored walls of the elevator, laughing at each other. She managed to press the button for their floor on the third try.

Dom stared up at the ceiling, because that was where his neck seemed to want to be. It was mirrored too, and he stared at himself staring back. Same eyes that stared back at him in make-up. Same eyes that stared out from under Merry's curls. Same eyes that conveyed emotions he didn't feel for a character he wasn't.

He covered his eyes with his hands, rubbed at his face. It felt malleable under his hands. It felt like someone else's face.

He'd had too much to drink.

"Sometimes," he said from behind his hands, "I don't know who the fuck I am."

When he parted his fingers, Liv was nodding, slow and steady, as if to a rhythm he couldn't hear.

"Yeah," she drawled, accent even more pronounced. She raised a hand to her cheek. "This face... it's been so fucking many people. What belongs to me?"

Dom stared at her from between his fingers. "You."

Liv grinned, waving a finger at him. Mostly at him. "Yeah, but what's me?"

The lift bell rang, and they both started laughing. "Fuck this," Dom stated, letting his hands drop as the doors slid smoothly open. "I'm going to bed."

And that was really the last thing he remembered.

*

The thing _was_, though, Dominic was sure he hadn't set the alarm. So what the fuck was it doing waking him up? Jesus fucking _hell_ shut up!

Fourth try, he managed to hit something that made the infernal beeping stop. Then, he attempted to pry his eyes open, focussed on the devillish-red LED numbers. Six-fucking-thirty? He certainly never set the alarm for six-thirty. Not even yesterday, because he hadn't been needed until the afternoon.

It was as these thoughts passed sluggishly through his head that he finally realised what he was looking at. Sleek, black alarm clock on the bedside table, with a hand still resting on top of it.

A long-fingered, definitely feminine hand. The oval nails were elegantly manicured.

Dom lifted his hand.

The hand lifted.

Dom jumped, literally jumped, slipping backwards across the bed, stumbling out of the sheets in a clumsy slither, finally finding his feet.

Feminine feet. The toenails were painted. Feminine feet at the end of shapely, shaved legs. Under a little lace-and-satin nightgown that lay nicely over fundamentally female curves.

Dom looked up, across the room, to the mirror.

And, after a moment's stunned consideration, screamed. In a high-pitched, girlish voice.

It wasn't far across the room to the door, but it took him a minute to scrabble the bolt open. He never bothered with locking that in his room. This wasn't his room. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. He finally got it open, wrenched the door open so hard it bounced off the wall with a thud, but he didn't notice, because he was already out in the corridor, gasping for breath. "Oh Jesus, sweet Jesus," he muttered, but that didn't help, because it wasn't his fucking voice.

As he stood in the corridor, frozen, the door to the next room opened abruptly, Elijah stalking out, tousle-haired and boxer-clad. "What the _fuck_ is going on?" he shouted.

Dom just looked at him, opened his mouth, but couldn't think of a thing to say. He was starting to shiver.

And then, from further down the corridor, there came a muffled shout. "Holy fuck!" It was a voice Dom recognised. Recognised very well.

Elijah was frowning at him. "Are you all right?" He came a few steps closer.

Behind him, a door crashed open, and another male figure, also disheveled and wearing only boxers, ran into the hall. And stopped dead.

Dom pushed past Elijah, barely noticing he was there. Was almost running by the time he reached the other figure, swung his fist with all his momentum and shock and burgeoning anger behind it. Hit the target squarely on the chin, and the other figure went staggering backwards, falling over completely as Dom jumped him. They landed heavily, Dom grabbing at the other's shoulders. There was a voice shouting, an almost incoherent female voice. "Get out get out get out of my motherfucking body you bastard!"

Jesus, it was him.

Then there were hands dragging him up and off, pulling at his elbows and shoulder and waist. He watched the other figure simply lie on the floor, gasping for breath, and rubbing at his chin. A chin Dom knew. Shaved every day. Not today. There was a light covering of stubble rasping at every swipe of fingers.

"Fucking hell, Liv!" Elijah shouted at him. "Are you trying to kill him?"

Billy moved past them, crouched down. "You OK, Dom?"

Dom closed his eyes, and prayed to wake up.

But when he opened them again, he was still in the corridor, staring down into his own eyes. "Liv?" he whispered, voice cracking.

"What?" Elijah asked.

The figure - him, Dom, his body... shit - was accepting Billy's offer of help getting up, but those eyes never left his. He nodded. _Liv_ nodded. Dom folded his hands - Liv's hands - under his arms. He was really shivering now. And his knuckles hurt. "What's going on?" The voice was barely a plaintive squeak.

"Well, that'd be my question too," Elijah noted.

"How about we get out of the corridor before we start discussing it?" It was Sean's suggestion, and Dom noticed Orlando was there too. Not to mention the curious crowd gathering in the corridor behind them.

Dom looked back to Liv in his body, who gestured towards the open door of the room that used to be his. Still was, really. Jesus, he felt like his head was on backwards. "Let's go, then."

Liv went first, shadowed by Billy, who cast a frown back at Dom. Elijah still had hold of his elbow as they shuffled in, Sean behind them. Dom could hear Orli in the corridor - "Show's over, folks" - before the door closed behind him.

Liv was sitting on the edge of the bed, Billy crouched beside. "You'd better call room service for an icepack," Billy noted, looking up.

"Two," Sean corrected, stepping past Dom and Elijah. "That was a fucking vicious right hook. How's your hand, Liv?"

It wasn't until Sean looked at him quizzically that Dom blinked. Oh, right, Liv was him. "Uh." He raised his hand, stretched the fingers out. The knuckles were red, but none of them seemed to be split. "Um, fine?"

"Two icepacks," Orlando declared, moving over to the bedside phone.

There was silence in the room as he spoke quietly to room service. Dom took the chance to shrug free of the hand Elijah seemed to have forgotten, make his way across the room and push a pair of jeans off an armchair, collapse into it. He felt drained, and his knuckles were getting worse by the second. Plus, there was an insistent throbbing at the back of his skull that reminded him that he'd been very drunk when he went to bed last night. Or Liv had. Or something. Fuck. Maybe if he could stop the world moving for two seconds, he could figure this out.

But the world kept moving. Orlando hung up the phone. "They'll be up in a few minutes."

"Well," Elijah said, and Dom looked up to where he was leaning against the wall, glaring in Dom's direction. "What the fuck was all that about, then?"

Dom opened his mouth, closed it again, desperately tried to think of something coherent to say. "Well, I just... it's sort of..." For Christ's sake, it wasn't even his sodding accent in that voice. His words came out with that lazy, smooth drawl he'd always quite liked about Liv's voice.

"It's personal." Yeah, and that was his voice, his accent. Dom looked over to Liv, still sitting on the edge of the bed. Knees together, her hands - _his_ hands - curled around them. It was a Liv pose, shaped in his limbs. Dom looked down, realised he was sprawled all over the armchair. He sat up straighter, drew his knees together, tried to pull the hem of the little satin thing down.

"Personal?" Sean repeated, and Dom looked up again in time to catch his raised eyebrow.

Orlando was much more straightforward. "Lover's tiff? Since when were you two shagging?"

"We're not." They said it in unison, and then their eyes locked. Dom looked away, grimacing. God, what were they saying? What were they doing? What the fuck was going on? He ran a hand through his hair - a nervous gesture he hardly thought about - but got caught up in long, dark tresses that weren't his.

Elijah threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "What, is it that time of the month or something?"

"Fuck you!" Liv cried. Liv in Dom's body. Elijah looked even more confused.

Dom buried his face in his hands, ginger with the injured knuckles. He almost jumped out of his skin at a warm hand on his shoulder, looked up wildly into Orlando's brown eyes, closer than he could remember ever seeing them before. He leaned hurriedly back, and Orlando blinked, then said: "Look, something's obviously going on. We're friends; just tell us, Liv."

That was it, that name, that soft concern in Orlando's eyes, that hand on his shoulder. Dom pushed Orlando away, surged to his feet. "Bloody _hell_, I can't sodding handle this. I'm not L-"

Then he caught Liv's eyes, wide and startled, and the words died on his lips. He wasn't Liv. But, then again, he was. And she was him. This was real. It was fucking real. He couldn't just deny it and have it go away. And God. What were they going to do?

They were saved by the bell: a knock on the door, and the call of "Roomservice". Nobody moved for a moment, and then Orlando went to answer the door. As if a spell was broken, Sean suddenly pushed himself out of the chair he'd taken.

"It's too early for this shit. I'm making coffee." He headed towards the small kitchen. "Lij, come and help."

Still frowning, Elijah nevertheless trailed after him. Dom looked back over to Liv, and was startled by how pale she suddenly looked. He took the two steps towards the bed, and shot a look at Billy, who must have seen something in the gaze, because he backed off, moved away to the far side of the room.

Dom sat on the edge of the bed, laid a hand uncertainly on the shoulder of the body he was still thinking of as his. Liv twisted, and suddenly there were arms around his neck, a chin against his shoulder. And wow, this was weird. Stubble against his neck and tugging at long hair, and a male back under his hands, all the wrong shape, and his head was still spinning.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Liv was chanting in his ear, a breathless mutter with an edge of panic, and he realised abruptly that she was barely holding back tears. He tightened the hug, pulled her closer against him - and crap, yeah, he had breasts now, didn't he? Shifted a little, searching for somewhere comfortable.

"It's going to be OK, Liv," he whispered.

"How the fuck is it going to be OK?" she hissed back. "This is the definitive not OK moment, Dom."

He took a deep breath, and she dug fingers into his shoulder. "Calm down," he murmured. "We have to calm down. What are we going to do?"

Liv took a deep breath, and released her hold, shifted back a little. Her face - his - was less pale now, Dom noted. "Our first problem is the other guys," she reasoned, voice quiet, concentrating on business to hold the hysteria at bay. "We need to tell them. We need someone to help us if we're going to pull this off."

"What do you mean, pull this off?"

"Being each other."

"No way."

"Shh! Dom, think about it. Who knows how long we're going to be stuck like this? It might even be perm-"

"Don't say it."

"It might."

"No."

She shook her head slightly, but didn't push it. "Anyway, they're going to figure it out anyway. They know you, Dom. Really well. We have to tell them."

"Have to tell us what?"

They looked up as one, like they'd been caught at something. Orlando, ice-packs in hand, was looking down at them with curious eyes. He tossed the ice-packs over. Dom caught one, Liv fumbled the other, and it dropped into her lap. She picked it up quickly, placed it against her jaw with a faint wince, and shot Dom a pointed look.

He looked away, down to the ice-pack he wrapped around his knuckles, and then over to Billy, standing by the window. Then, he realised Liv was right. Billy's eyes were huge, staring at him. At the pair of them. Something had tipped him off. Some body language, or quirk, or something. Liv was right; Billy had already figured it out. The others would, too. Better to tell them.

Dom sighed, and looked back to Orlando. "You'd better call Sean and Elijah back in here," he said. "This is the sort of thing I only want to have to explain once."

Orlando, frowning, went to do just that, and Dom jumped slightly as a hand took his. Big hand, male hand, enfolding his smaller, feminine hand. He smiled up at Liv, who was smiling back. He turned back to face the other four.

Who were all staring at him.

"You're not, like, pregnant or something weird, are you Liv?" It was Orlando, voicing the question that seemed to be bothering three of them.

Dom opened his mouth. Liv's mouth. But it's original owner beat him to the punch. "Um, actually guys, I'm Liv." Three pairs of eyes swung in her direction. Billy kept staring at Dom. "That's Dom, there." The eyes swung back.

"Whathefuck?" You couldn't beat Elijah for eloquence.

Dom took a deep breath, and spelt it out for them. "Somehow, this morning, Liv and I woke up in each other's bodies. She's in mine," Liv waved, wiggling the fingers of his hand, with an apologetic little smile, "and I'm in hers."

Silence.

"How much did you two fucking drink last night?" Sean demanded.

And that was just the beginning.

It had been 6:30 when Dom woke to find the world - or at least his personal version of it - mind-bogglingly altered.

By 7, they were mostly convinced that this wasn't some insane prank that Dom and Liv were pulling.

By 7:30, they'd decided that they had to get the hell out of town while they figured out what they were doing to do. They had a week, thank God. They had their usual beachhouse. Sean and Elijah went ahead, ostensibly because they could pack quickly, and so they could get everything arranged at the house. Actually, Sean pointed out - quietly - that Elijah had said practically nothing since Dom had started explaining everything, and he was looking more wild-eyed by the second. It wouldn't help anyone if he exploded.

Dom was, frankly, a bit pissed off about that. What the hell did Elijah have to be freaked out about? He wasn't the one who'd played musical bodies. He wasn't the one who'd had to have lessons in putting on underwear, and had to give lessons in how to pee standing up.

Honestly, you'd think some things would just be intuitive.

Everything was a whirlwind of activity from the moment the decision was made, and Dom was very glad not to be thinking. Thinking was a bad thing. Thinking made him uncertain as to whether or not his head was about to fall off.

By 8, they were pulling out of the hotel carpark.

They'd been on the road half an hour when Liv, in the back seat with Billy, suddenly started rummaging around in the backpack she had back there. "I almost forgot."

"Forgot what?" Dom asked. He turned around, but couldn't see anyway, and just made himself feel queasy. He turned back to face the road, and jumped when Liv stretched her arm over his shoulder.

"Here. You have to take this."

He took the slim box from the hand. His hand. Wearing his ring. Even that small fact was enough to bemuse him. He asked idly: "What's this?" His eyes dropped to the packet as he turned it over in his hands.

For a moment, he was merely confused, and then realisation dawned. And it all hit him. Fuck! This was just too much.

"Stop the car," he growled.

"What?" Orlando asked, glancing over at him.

"Just stop the goddamned car!"

They came to a screeching halt in the grass and gravel at the edge of the road. Dom had his seatbelt released, and was out of the car before they were even fully stopped. He slammed the door behind him, stalked a few steps away from the car.

"Dom!" His voice. It was _his fucking voice_.

He whirled around. The others were getting out of the car, Liv closing her door, a water bottle in her hand. He advanced, waving the packet at her. "Is this your idea of a fucking joke? It's not funny. This whole thing is not fucking funny."

She didn't flinch. "You see me laughing?"

He stopped, only a couple of steps away from her. Orlando and Billy watched over the roof of the car. Dom looked down at the packet, back up at Liv. "This is the Pill."

"I know." She was so damn calm. "I take it every day."

"Yeah, _you_ do!" Too much, too much. He had to move, had to turn again, pace away from her. "You fucking do, Liv. I don't have pills and wires in my fucking underwear and fucking five red days a month or whatever the fuck it is. I don't want it!" He was screaming now, and he didn't particularly care, shouting at the empty wilderness around them. "I don't want to be a fucking woman! I don't want to be you, Liv!"

"Jesus _fucking_ hell!" He turned again, this time to witness Liv striding towards him, and God, did he always look that intimidating when angry? Even with the purpling of bruises up the line of his jaw. "You think _I_ want to be _you_? You fucking arrogant bastard; there are two of us in this mess, you know." She was right up in his face, now, screaming mad, and he wondered if she was going to hit him with the water bottle. "You think this is some private joke God and me are playing on you? _Fuck_ you, Monaghan."

He was taller now, he noticed, leaning forward. "I just want my fucking body back," he snapped.

"Me too," she shot back. "But it isn't fucking happening, now is it?"

Glaring at her, Dom became aware of the sound of another motor, looked up as a car slowed on the other side of the road. The driver had his window wound down. "Are you having trouble?" he called out, concerned.

Orlando waved cheerfully. "No trouble. Just a disagreement about directions," he called, and the other driver waved back, and drove on.

Liv sighed. "Look, Dom, you're freaking out. I'm freaking out. I've been freaking out since I woke up this morning. But who knows what's going to happen. Maybe we'll wake up tomorrow morning in the right bodies and it'll all be behind us. Just a temporary glitch. And if that's the case," she continued, a small smile starting at the corner of her mouth. His mouth. Whatever. "If that's the case, then I don't want my cycle to be completely fucked just because you wouldn't swallow a little bitty pill."

Dom snorted, looked down at the pill packet still in his hand.

Liv smiled, and held out the water bottle. "We're stuck in this together, Dom. We'll never make it through if we don't help each other."

Grudgingly, Dom took the bottle from her. "Yeah."

"Great!" Orlando shouted. "Now get your fucking arses back in the car, or we'll never get there."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom and Liv really learn to act.

"Let me show you the world in my eyes."  
Depeche Mode - World in my eyes

*

When they arrived at the beachhouse, Sean and Elijah had already been food shopping, and opened the place up. Dom helped unload the car, and then collapsed in the living room, while Liv was given a tour of the house. He looked up as the couch dipped and Elijah settled at the other end of it.

"Hi."

"Oh, you're talking to me now?" It was a bit sharp, perhaps, but Dom felt he was due a little snarkiness.

Elijah grimaced. "Yeah, look, I'm sorry, it's just..." He waved a hand vaguely. "This is fucking weird."

"Believe me," Dom declared, gesturing to his body. That wasn't his. "I know exactly how fucking weird this is."

Elijah shook his head. "Not just the fact you're a girl. You've Liv. And it's weird. You _look_ like Liv, but you walk like Dom. And act like him. And even talk like him, if you ignore the accent. And Liv looks like you, but... yeah. All that."

Dom looked down at himself, sprawled in his usual fashion on the couch. OK. Point. "But I _am_ still me," he noted. "It's still me in here. All of this," again, he indicated the body, "is just... I dunno. Plumbing."

Elijah grinned, and Dom grinned back, and he was amazed at how much of a relief that was. To still be able to grin with Elijah the same, despite everything. "Yeah, but it's _Liv's_ plumbing."

"And that's going to be the problem." Both of them looked up as Billy walked in, followed by the rest. The tour, apparently, was finished.

"What's going to be the problem?" Dom asked, as the other took seats around the room. It was, he noticed, very odd to see Liv holding his body like that. A little too stiff, and just leaning the wrong way. She still sat like a girl. Fair enough; really, she still was.

"To state the problem in the simplest terms," Sean began, "you two have swapped bodies."

"Weren't you listening when I explained this morning?"

Sean ignored him, and kept speaking. "And now we have to decide what you're going to do about it. What we're all going to do about it."

"What are our options?" Liv asked.

Orlando started counting them off on his fingers. "Come clean to PJ, the cast, the crew, and the rest of the world."

"_Not_ tempting," Liv commented quickly. "I can't even think of how to do it, let alone the sort of response we'd get."

Orlando shrugged, and moved on to the next finger. "Just tell the people who need to know, like PJ. Or, alternatively, tell no one beyond us."

"I like that one," Dom declared. "The fewer people who know about this, the better." Liv nodded.

"The thing is," Billy continued, "if you're going to keep it a secret from anyone, you're going to have to be able to convince them that you _are_ each other."

It was Elijah's turn to shrug now. "They're actors, aren't they?"

"They've only got a week to prepare," Sean pointed out.

Elijah made a dismissive gesture. "No worries. Stress of filming covers any lapses of behaviour. Body-swapping is not something that people immediately think of as an excuse for weirdness."

"Good point," Billy conceded, and looked between Dom and Liv. "You two think you can pull off being each other?"

Dom opened his mouth, but once again, Liv beat him to it. "It's more complicated than that, you know." Everyone turned to look at her, and she shrugged a little self-consciously, a purely Liv trait. "He not only has to be me. He has to be me being Arwen. And I have to be him being Merry."

There was a moment's silence as that sunk in. Dom shrugged, and stood up. "Well, we'd better get to work, then."

*

Sometimes, Dom wished he kept his fucking mouth shut.

Liv's mouth. His mouth. Whatever. That was the first point of business.

"You have to stop calling each other by the wrong names," Billy lectured them.

"They're the _right_ names," Dom responded.

"Not to the rest of the world. You're Liv, you're Dom. And that goes for you lot too." He turned to address the others. Elijah stopped sniggering and tried to look attentive. "You need to get used to it."

"Yes sir," Orlando agreed, and both he and Elijah started laughing again.

But yeah, Dom wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Because 'getting to work', meant just that.

That afternoon, the guys went surfing. He and Liv went over each others' scripts. Sure, they had the voices, but they had to learn how to use them all over again. Once he got the hang of it, it was easier than he'd thought it would be. It was just a matter of learning what this new voice could do, and then tweaking certain parts.

Which didn't make it any less weird, of course.

When the others returned, they were greeted with an Arwen-perfect: "What's this; a surfer, caught off his board?"

Three laughs. Elijah just stared.

"Here, what's he looking at?" Liv asked, precisely Merry.

Elijah shook his head, eyes wide. "This is so fucking bizarre."

And it was bizarre. There were fencing lessons (the other hobbits helped Liv with those), and walking-like-an-elf sessions (with Orlando's assistance). Dom maintained he had the worst part of the bargain. He had to learn Elvish. Fucking Elvish. His tongue was never going to recover. And how to do it all in a full-length damn skirt. How did anyone ever do anything in those things? And there were sleeves he had to learn to manage as well.

All Liv had to learn to do was look like a male. Surely it couldn't be hard. She was halfway there, after all. But she was having as much trouble as Dom.

After they ran through one scene, Billy noted: "She's going to have to do better than that, or people are really going to get the wrong idea about Merry and Pippin."

"Like they don't already," Sean laughed.

"Don't make me start with the Frodo and Sam jokes."

"Yeah, but they'd be justified this time, what with Merry prancing about like a pansy," Dom butted in, and poked Liv, who was sulking. "And stop crossing my legs like that. I look like a girl!"

Billy turned to look him up and down. "Why yes, you do."

And then there were the mannerism lessons. And that was the kicker. The little personal quirks that were so easy and thoughtless when... well, when you didn't have to sodding _think_ about them all the time. Liv had more poise than Dom, fewer nervous habits. The fourth time someone knocked his hand away from running through his hair, he half-screamed, "Fucking hell!" and stormed outside.

"Just let it be," he could hear Billy say behind him. "He needs to blow off steam."

"She," someone corrected.

"Bugger."

But it was happening, when they did think about it. Happening before his eyes when he looked in the mirror and when he watched Liv moving around the kitchen almost exactly like he would. There were small differences. Her Dom smiled more, and there was the occasional odd, almost uncertain movement. She used his hips more. His Liv was more energetic, more fidgety, and he wasn't quite used to the extra height yet.

And then there was the peeing sitting down, and the underwear. Oh, and the fucking skincare regime.

"But you have bloody beautiful skin!" he interrupted in the middle of the explanation.

"And how do you think I keep it bloody beautiful?" she replied sternly. "And don't say 'bloody'. I don't use that word."

Every morning, when he woke up, the first thing he did was raise his hand in front of his face, and wiggle fingers that still weren't his.

Every evening, he looked up into the sky and prayed to change back. After a few days, he started trying different deities. No one seemed to be listening, though.

Saturday night, they all sat down to Sean's pasta bake surprise for dinner (the surprise being whether it would be any good or not, since he always made up the recipe as he went along).

"You guys ready?" Billy asked them, between mouthfuls.

Dom and Liv exchanged a look, and shrugged. "Guess so," Liv provided. "There's not much else we can cover. We've just gotta remember it all."

"We'd better be ready," Dom noted. "We're all out of time." They had to be back by tomorrow evening, ready to start filming again the next day.

"What you need," Orlando declared, gesturing with his fork, "is a test."

"You have something in mind?"

Orlando grinned. "Well, there's that pub in town. Saturday nights they always have a dancefloor. Lots of strangers. I figure it'd be a great place to test-drive your new bodies."

Dom eyed Orlando suspiciously, but Liv just grinned. "Sounds like fun."

Getting ready to go out, Dom discovered, took a lot longer when you were a girl. And even longer when you didn't really know what the hell you were doing. Make-up was another discovery - yeah, sure, he'd dabbled with eyeliner and mascara a little, but this whole fucking foundation thing... Women did this on a _regular basis_? Not just when they had to go on screen? Bloody hell.

And what, precisely, he was going to wear was another battle. The argument was still raging when Elijah came to check on them.

"It fucking does not!" Liv declared, throwing her hands up in the air.

"And I tell you it does," Dom countered, looking over his shoulder at the mirror. He looked up to Elijah, standing bemused in the doorway, and said: "Lij, does my arse look big in these pants?"

In response, Elijah collapsed laughing.

Dom sniffed. "Well fuck you."

"Ass," Liv corrected, suppressing her own giggles. "Not arse."

"Fuck you too."

He wore the pants, in the end, because he didn't really know what else to wear. The problem was that they were tight. Very fitting. And white. They smoothed across his thighs in a way nothing he'd worn before ever had, and sat so low on his hips that he was sure they were going to fall off. Of course, they weren't, because he had hips now. Hips that went out, and back in to a waist that was bared by the slightly short hemline of the asymmetrical top Liv had decreed he was going to wear. That top was tight, too, skimming over an ample bust. Liv's ample bust. Now _his_ ample bust.

Jesus fucking christ.

"Come on, already!" Orlando, interrupting his reverie in front of the mirror. "You're fucking gorgeous; let's go."

They went.

The pub was half-full, the dancefloor sparsely populated as the DJ played Soft Cell's 'Tainted Love'. Elijah and Orlando bounced immediately onto the floor, and the others pushed through to the bar, which was massed solid. Dom, looking for an empty spot, was surprised when one opened right in front of him, two guys stepping aside. Billy nudged him forward. "First round's on you. We'll find a table."

Dom stepped up to the empty bar, suddenly very conscious of the way the guys on either side were looking at him. Right, think Liv. He smiled at the barman; that was a good start, right? The barman grinned broadly. Leered, almost, Dom realised, and he blinked. "Ah, two pints of red, one of stout, and -" What the hell did Liv normally drink? "And a Wild Turkey and coke."

The barman smiled at her as he started to draw the pints of beer. "Not a local, love?"

Dom caught himself in the act of leaning against the bar, turned the one-elbow prop into a rather fumbled but still, he hoped, acceptable two-elbow drape. What the hell was he supposed to do with his hands? He settled for propping his chin on his laced fingers. What else? Oh yeah, the barman had asked a question, was now looking at him with one raised eyebrow as he set the two pints of red on the bar. "No, not a local. Just in the country for work."

"You're working on that movie, aren't you?" Said with a sideways glance and smile.

Jesus. This was flirting. This was fucking flirting. What was he supposed to do? He settled for smiling. It always worked for Liv, after all. "Guilty."

And then, thank God, the drinks were ready and he could toss some money on the bar, gather them up - the barman raising both eyebrows this time, for no reason Dom could see - and flee back to the others.

There were more raised eyebrows when he reached the table, depositing the drinks. "What?" he demanded, looking around the three. "Why the fuck is everyone looking at me like that? I ordered a girly drink - that's for you, by the way L- fuck! I mean Dom, so you can get your hands off my stout - and I leaned against the bar the right way and I even fucking flirted with the fucking barman and I haven't said one non-Liv swearword yet."

Billy was trying not to fall off his chair laughing, which wasn't helpful. Liv was chuckling. Sean seemed to have himself under control enough to point to the drinks - Dom hadn't even spilt any! - and say: "You carried all four at once? That's very impressive."

Dom just stared at him for a moment, then back to the drinks. "That's it? Oh, fuck me! Fuck this!" He grabbed his pint of stout, downed a large gulp, and gestured towards the still-laughing pair. "And fuck you too."

Sean patted him on the shoulder. "You were doing very well."

That really didn't help. But a pint of stout - good, rich stout brewed to the point of it almost being salty and they really could make a fine beer in this country - certainly did help. A lot. When the music started into the first highly-recognisable bars of the Proclaimers' "500 Miles", and Elijah and Orli descended on the table in a storm of insistence, there was some niggling feeling at the back of his head that this was maybe not a good idea, but fuck that, too. Why shouldn't he go and dance?

Then he got onto the dancefloor, which was more crowded than it had been before, and he realised why he shouldn't. Not his body. How the hell did he dance in this?

Someone touched him, a hand at his hip, and he jumped. The hand slid around his waist, arm following. Quick glance down; he recognised that arm.

"Relax, it's easy," Liv said - his voice said - in his ear. And that was his old body sliding up behind his new body. OK, yes, this was easier, put his hand over Liv's hand and move with her, slightly, sway to the rhythm. "A woman on the dancefloor can do little wrong," Liv advised. "Bend your knees a little more. You're allowed more sway when you're female. It's all about the hips; don't be afraid to move them."

So, yeah, maybe he could do this after all. He half-turned his head towards her. "What about you?"

He could see the grin out of the corner of his eye. "I'm fine. Just act like a muppet, that's all male dancing is."

She ducked away with a laugh as he rounded on her, but Orli stepped forward, wrapped an arm around his waist, and stopped him chasing her off the floor. "Come on, Elf Princess. Show us how graceful you are."

"Fuck off." But he let Orlando pull him, laughing, up closer against him, dancing in exaggerated sways with an arm around his lower back, pulling him against Orli's bony hip. He draped his arm around Orli's neck in return, laughed along with him. It sort of felt good, dancing against someone like this, the way their bodies fit together and, Jesus! Was he fucking drunk already? He'd only had one pint.

He took a step back from Orlando, who let him go.

A few more songs - a couple of bubble-gum dance numbers and the amusing inclusion of YMCA, pleasantly followed by the Chemical Brothers - and Dom thought he was really getting the hang of this female dancing thing. Unfortunately, a number of other people seemed to think so too. Not even the presence of Orli and Lij had persuaded half a dozen different guys not to approach Dom. And frankly, he was running out of ways of politely extracting himself.

He was also running out of bladder space, apparently. Time for a toilet break.

On the way across the pub came approach number seven. He looked pleasant enough, Dom supposed, stopping with a sigh of frustration as the guy stepped into his path. Fairly well dressed. As clean cut as they came in this place. Smiling nicely. His line of choice was: "Can I buy you a drink, love?"

"No, thanks. I'm here with friends." Liv had suggested it as a good brush-off line. Though in Dom's (very limited, but quickly expanding) experience, it didn't really work.

Now was no exception. The guy grinned more broadly, leaned forward to sling an arm around Dom's shoulders. "Aw, come on. Just a little one."

And frankly, Dom had had it with guys who just wouldn't get the picture. He braced both hands against the guy's ribs, and shoved. Hard. The guy went staggering backwards. "Look, I'm not interested. Just fuck off, will you?"

As he marched onwards, he heard from behind him: "Fucking feral slag!" His hands curled into fists, but he kept going, repeating under his breath, like a mantra: "Girls do not hit people. Girls do not hit people." He pushed out the door that led to the amenities corridor. "Girls do not- Oh, hey Li- Dom. What are you doing out here?"

She was leaning against the wall, empty glass in hand, and glazed expression on her face. His face. Oh fuck this. He really wasn't thinking terribly clearly. Though by the look on Liv's face, he wasn't the only one.

"I came out to go to the toilet," she said quietly, and turned to look at him. "I almost went into the wrong one."

Dom looked up at the little sign. She was standing outside the Ladies.

"This is really real, isn't it?" There was something in the tone of voice that made him look back at her, quickly. In the eyes, too. Something stark. "I mean, it's all been a bit of a game so far. Just a laugh. But... tomorrow we go back and I'm going to be you and you're going to be me and it's going to have to work and it's going to be real."

Dom leaned carefully against the wall next to her, took the empty glass from her hand. "How many of these have you had?"

Liv laughed, and the moment was fleeing past, and they were stumbling forward again. "Not enough. I've been trying to get drunk, but it just ain't working. You've got too much damn alcohol tolerance."

Dom snorted. "Whereas I've had one pint and I'm feeling a little giddy."

"Swap you?"

Dom laughed along with her. "What a great idea!"

Later, Liv would teach Dom how to use cleavage as a secret weapon in pool. Elijah would call foul, but that was just because Dom, even in Liv's body, could still beat him without breaking a sweat. Orli got revenge by commenting - extensively - on Dom's arse every time he bent over. It was those damn pants.

Even later, Liv would leave them all slack-jawed as she dirty-danced with a leggy blonde, twining limbs and ending with the sort of scorching liplock a drunken dancefloor produces.

"Jesus _Christ_," Orli breathed, voicing their thoughts. "There's fucking _tongue_ in there." And it was somehow worse because no one else in the pub saw anything wrong with it.

Liv left the blonde with a cheery grin and a quick line, came sauntering back to the table to down the last of her drink. "You're gaping, boys." And the grin broadened. "Always wondered what that was like the other way."

Even later that that, Dom would finally snap when a guy groped his arse in passing, and turn around and belt him. Surprisingly, the consequences were nothing but a chorus of laughter from the guy's mates, who dragged him back to the bar, on the premise that alcohol cures everything.

They left shortly after that, Billy curling an arm around Dom's waist. "You're so violent these days, Liv. What's gotten into you?" Elijah laughed out loud. Dom just grunted, and elbowed Billy in the ribs.

The next day, they went back, and Dom had to be Liv, and Liv had to be Dom. And it was going to have to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The addition of an external party means things get more complicated.

"I never looked at you in a sexual way in my life before."  
New Order - Touched By The Hand Of God

*

It wasn't really that unusual for half the cast to show up to watch the shooting of a scene, even if they weren't in it. And even if the scene was what Dom had referred to as 'Arwen arsing about Rivendell'. That's all it really was, just arsing about, but it was arsing about as Arwen, in full costume, in full character, in front of the cameras and crew and everyone. The real test. Dom had never been so glad of the moral support in his life.

As the scene drew to its end again - the third time, but a few takes were the norm - Dom found himself holding his breath, looking for the hobbits and Orli out of the corner of his eye. PJ called: "Cut!"

And then: "Nice work. It's a wrap."

Dom turned in a swirl of hair and sleeves and skirt, and the others were hurrying across the set towards him.

"Well done!" Orlando declared, giving him a one-armed hug. He was in costume, due for filming later this afternoon. The hobbits, bouncing up excited and grinning, were in jeans and T-shirts. They'd finished their filming this morning.

Dom laughed, shook Billy's offered hand. "All I can say is that it's a good job Arwen has to look stressed in this scene."

"You did fine," Liv told him.

"Thanks. How'd you go this morning?" Dom had been in make-up at the time.

"No worries!" Elijah declared, mimicking the Aussie drawl of half the crew.

Sean laughed, and leaned on Liv's shoulder. "Nah, Dom did great."

They were getting better with the names, but there was still a jarring sensation for Dom, hearing his name given to someone else. How long would they be swapped like this? How long until he was the only one who still remembered _he_ was the real Dom?

"Hey." It was Liv, nudging him with an elbow, and showing him a smile that told him she understood what he was thinking. He smiled back. "Go get de-elfed. You want to come back to ours and go over tomorrow's scenes again?"

"Sure," Dom agreed, and separated from the cluster to head back to makeup.

And that was another weird thing. Living arrangements. Obviously, like everything else, they had to swap. Which left Liv sharing Dom's old house with Billy, and Dom rattling around alone in Liv's place. It had taken him half an hour just to figure out where everything was in the kitchen. It was still eerie. Like being in someone else's house when they weren't there. Exactly like that, in fact. It didn't feel like home. He didn't belong there.

Mind you, he didn't really belong in his house with Billy, either. Though he could pretend for a little, while they were sprawled in the untidy living room, practicing and analysing and playing around with their lines for the next day's shooting. It became a daily ritual, this gathering, even as the week went on and they started to get the hang of it, and it became less and less necessary. Dom wasn't about to suggest they stop. For a little, every day, he could slouch in his old chair, and go and get a beer from the fridge, and be just the same as always.

But at the end of the day, he still had to smile, and say his goodbyes, and go back to Liv's place. His place, now.

Which is where he found himself on Friday night. Alone, padding around the house in a bathrobe over T-shirt and boxers - he still hadn't got the hang of this satin nightgown thing, whatever Liv said about feeling sexy. The hobbits had been shooting all day, and they were too tired to go out. Dom remembered nights like that. Him and Billy, in front of the TV with junk and beer, watching, commenting, eventually falling asleep to wake in the morning hungover and sore.

But he was Liv now.

Yeah, well, he didn't need that shit anyway, right? There was a football match on TV. He'd forget about the washing up from dinner, watch the football, and get an early night.

At least, that was the plan. In the middle of Dom's pre-game channel-surfing, there came a knock at the door. Dom froze, mind racing. Who'd be knocking on Liv's door at this time of night? He couldn't very well pretend not to be in, not with the lights on and the TV going. Tying up his bathrobe, he crossed to the front door, flicked on the outside light, and opened the door a fraction.

"Viggo!"

Viggo, who'd been half-turned away from the door, staring off into the darkness, turned back, his smile wide and natural. He'd never smiled at Dom like that before. Of course, he wasn't smiling at Dom now, was he? "Hey Liv. Just thought I'd drop by; it's been a while." He held up a bottle of wine. "I brought something to share."

This was officially weirding Dom out, but Viggo didn't seem to think there'd be anything unexpected about this. In fact, the way he was talking, it sounded like a regular sort of thing. And why not? Why shouldn't Liv socialise regularly with the other members of the cast? They hadn't talked much about things like that, too concerned with the important details of the roles and personalities. Liv could have half of Lothlorien over to tea every Wednesday, and Dom wouldn't know about it.

Just play along. At least he'd have some company. Though Viggo probably wouldn't want to watch the football. Damn. Oh well, it was just Leeds and Blackburn. Dom smiled, opened the door fully. "Good to see you, Vig." Yeah, Liv always called him that, right? "It has been a while. Come in."

Viggo slid past him in the entry hall, continued along the hall towards the kitchen. He seemed at home. Even more so than Dom. Dom wondered if he should get dressed. Settled for cinching the bathrobe belt tighter.

"We haven't really spoken since before the break," Viggo said idly, stopped in the kitchen doorway and looking over his shoulder. "You went off with the hobbits. By the lack of bruising, I'm assuming they didn't coax you onto a surfboard." That with a warm, almost cheeky grin.

Dom laughed, remembering their panic on the surf trip when Viggo had managed to deck himself on his surfboard. They'd seriously considered fleeing to Australia, rather than face the wrath of PJ. Dom shoved at Viggo with his shoulder as he slipped past him into the kitchen. "Maybe I'm just better at it than you."

Viggo followed him - quite closely, Dom thought, but he was still bothered by the difference of personal space between male and female - into the kitchen. "That wouldn't be hard, I suppose. I was pretty woeful."

That was a bit harsh; Dom thought Viggo had been doing pretty well before that unfortunate wave. But he bit his tongue; how would Liv know that? He grinned instead. "Well, you have other gifts."

Viggo grinned in return, and set the bottle on the bench. "Dozens and dozens. What are you up to tonight, anyway?" He leaned back against the cupboards, and it was really a little distracting, Viggo's lean frame propped against the cupboards, blocking the space off. There was no one else here, and Viggo had always made Dom a little uncertain.

Concentrate. What did we need? Wine; glasses. Right. Open the cupboard. An answer might be good too. "Oh, I was just going to watch -" Liv wouldn't be watching football; think! "- some TV and have an early night." Two wineglasses. Close the cupboard again.

And Viggo had never looked at him like that before, either. A sort of casual consideration, leisurely and faintly concerned, and this close Dom could follow Viggo's gaze tracing slowly over his features. "Are you all right, Liv?" he asked faintly. "You've seemed... different for the past few days."

Shit! Double shit and buggery. Dom kept his face calm, raised his eyebrows in what he hoped appeared to be mild incomprehension. "Oh? I'm fine. Just fine."

Viggo nodded slowly, and his gaze met Dom's. Dom forced himself not to look away. "That's good," Viggo said, and leaned forward slightly. Raised his hand, and laid it against Dom's cheek.

Don't react. Don't flinch. Smile slightly. Yeah, that's good. What the fuck's going on?

And then Viggo leaned forward even more, and his lips were on Dom's, his breath against his cheek, he was kissing him, he was fucking _kissing_ him, holy fucking _hell_!

Dom was moving before he could think about it, stumbling backwards, so far and so fast he almost fell over the end of the bench. Put out a hand to steady himself and almost knocked over the wine glasses. He was breathing hard with an edge of panic he knew was painted all over his face, in his eyes.

Viggo was still looking at him with that quiet contemplation. He lowered his hand.

"Um," Dom said.

"Hmm," Viggo said, a hum in the back of his throat that communicated nothing. "Well, I'll be going then."

"Viggo -"

But he was already moving, halfway across the kitchen with that lazy energy he always had. "Keep the wine." He paused in the doorway, though, looked back. "You know where to find me if you want to talk, Liv."

He was gone, the sound of the door closing behind him. Dom was alone in the kitchen. In the house. The sound of the television in the next room, and he curled his fingers around the base of a wine glass.

Jesus. What the fuck was all that about, then?

Dom was still breathing in deep, ragged breaths. Viggo, so close, and the kiss, and... He needed to talk to Liv. Where was the phone?

After three rings it picked up, the laughing end of a shouted comment before Billy said: "Hello?"

"Put Liv on."

A pause as Billy got his train of thought on the right track. "But you're L-"

"Just put her on."

There was a faint click, and then silence. After a few moments, Dom heard his own voice say: "Hello?"

"Liv, why the fuck did Viggo just kiss me?"

"Oh. Shit."

Dom sagged against the wall, slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Twined the phone cord around his finger. "Yeah. Shit is about sodding right."

"I'm sorry, Dom. I should have mentioned something, it's just it didn't even occur to me to say... I mean, Vig's just a friend."

"You snog all your friends?"

On the other end of the phone, Liv sighed heavily. "No, of course not. But with Vig... well, that's just how it is. We hang out, and do whatever. Sometimes we just talk. Sometimes we sleep together."

"You fucking _what_?"

"Chill out, Dom. It's no big thing. It's just... we're there for each other. If we need a little care and attention, then... yeah, well."

"Jesus."

"I'm really sorry."

Dom realised he'd hopelessly kinked the phone cord. It refused to curl up again. "Anything else you should tell me, Liv? Anyone else going to show up at my door?"

She laughed a little. "No. Just Vig."

"Good."

There was another pause, then Liv asked, sober now: "Are you OK, Dom?"

"I will be. Just need time to think. Maybe I should sleep on it."

"OK. Well, you know where we are if you need us. Sleep tight."

"Night."

He sat on the floor for long minutes, the dead phone in his hand. And then a loud cheer from the television reminded him that he'd left it on. Clambering to his feet, he hung up the phone, and scrabbled about on the couch until he found the remote, killed the TV.

Only then did he wander back into the kitchen. He put the wineglasses away again, and turned to look at the bottle of wine. Tilted it up so he could read the label. It was very tasteful, red calligraphy and simple black text on white. Penfolds Bin 128 Coonawarra Shiraz. Interesting.

But Dom knew nothing about wine, and he couldn't keep pretending to be seriously considering the vintage just so he didn't have to think about what had just happened. He pushed the bottle into a corner of the bench. Tomorrow. He'd think about it tomorrow. For now, he'd take his own advice, and go to bed.

*

When he woke up the next morning, he thought it might have been a dream. But the bottle was still in its corner of the bench. Dom glared at it, and muttered into his orange juice. "Bloody hell. Nothing can ever be simple, can it?"

Which made him laugh. The whole body-swapping thing was 'simple' now?

He was shooting with Viggo that day. He did quite a few scenes with Viggo. Though he approached it with a hint of dread, nothing seemed different. There was still the same air of business, the same faint banter when they weren't needed, the same touch of camaraderie. And if Dom occasionally thought he saw Viggo watching him with that quiet consideration... well, maybe he was imagining it, too.

Then the scene was over, and Dom was sitting alone in make-up. The hobbits were off shooting their own scenes. You know where we are if you need us, Liv had told him. Yeah, he knew where they were. Together. And he was alone, again.

Viggo had said the same thing. You know where to find me.

Dom thought about that.

There for each other, Liv had said.

He thought about that, too. And he thought about a bottle of red wine, sitting on his bench. It looked like good red wine. He'd never really drunk much of the stuff, but maybe he could get used to it.

If he was going to be stuck as Liv for any length of time, it'd be nice to have a friend. Just for the talking thing. Just for the being there for each other thing. Not for, like, um, the sex. No. Because that was just too damn weird.

So that evening, as dusk hesitated over the streets, Dom took the bottle of wine and walked around to Viggo's place. It was close enough to walk to, from Liv's place. Not even quite fifteen minutes. Long enough to make you start having doubts. Short enough that you hadn't quite talked yourself out of it by the time you arrived at the front gate.

No turning back at that point, because Viggo was sitting on the front steps, sketchpad on his knee, mug of something in his hand, raised to his lips, like one eyebrow raised as he watched Dom hesitate at the gate. Dusk had arrived; the air was think and blue. Viggo sat the mug beside him on the step. "Hello, Liv," he said.

Dom came up the path, not that far really. He paused at the bottom of the half-dozen steps. "I, uh, thought I should bring your wine back." That was a bit brusque; he was trying to be friends, after all. So he smiled as he held out the bottle, and tried not to hold his breath as Viggo watched him with shadowed eyes.

"It was supposed to be shared," Viggo said finally, leaning forward to take the bottle in one hand, at the base. He held it like it was natural in his hand. Dom was always uncertain about wine. Viggo hefted it, considered it, shifted that gaze back to Dom. "Should we open it?"

"Um." Sharing wine, and getting drunk, and would that be a prelude to more kissing? He needed to do something with his hands, or he was going to get caught up in all sorts of non-Liv nervous gestures. He stuck them in the back pockets of his jeans. Yeah, he'd seen Liv do that sometimes. "Not right now. There's things... I should... I just came past to give it back, and... uh..."

"I'll keep it, then," Viggo interjected smoothly, and put the wine next to his mug. "For a special occasion." He looked back at Dom. "And...?"

Oh yes, give it back and... "Um, and to apologise for last night."

Viggo was inscrutable, and what was worse was that he didn't mean it, didn't mean to be so blank that Dom couldn't read him, it was just the way he was. Small, subtle, like his voice when he wasn't using Aragorn's careful enunciation, when it was just a stream of almost-mumbled, soft sounds trickling together. "There's no need for apologies between us, Liv. Things are the way they are."

Yes. Maybe between him and Liv. But Dom wanted this relationship to be on his own terms. Of course, Viggo wouldn't know the difference. But Dom would. "I _want_ to apologise, though. I felt... I was rude. I..." Why hadn't he thought this through more? How on earth was he supposed to phrase this? He took a deep breath. "I don't want to lose your friendship through a misunderstanding. It's just... I'm having trouble, lately." Dom grimaced. "Having trouble just being myself. For me. And... well, I'm not sure I can be anything for anyone else. Not in that way. Or..."

Dom trailed off as Viggo started to move, setting aside his sketchpad, and moving the mug and bottle, clearing space on the top step. Space that he patted with one palm. "Come and sit down, Liv."

Dom climbed the steps slowly, a little nervous about what might follow sitting in such close proximity to Viggo. They were hip-to-hip on the top step, and the light was almost all gone from the sky, the evening pulling close and intimate around them. But Viggo rested his forearms on his knees, clasped his hands. Didn't even look at Dom beside him, staring out at the street. Hands no longer in his pockets, Dom realised his fingers were twining together. He looked down, forced them to stillness. When he looked up again, Viggo had turned slightly, was watching him half-sidelong.

"I'm always here for you, Liv. Whatever you need."

"I know." And Dom did know. It was like a newly-discovered solid rock in a sea of uncertainty. Viggo wouldn't ask questions, wouldn't judge, would just watch and be what he needed.

Viggo smiled slightly. "Maybe you do. But you keep forgetting. And I can't always be there, especially if you don't want me to be."

Dom had no response to that. Viggo watched him a moment longer, and then moved, sitting up straighter and raising his hands to his neck, fiddling with something around the side and back that Dom couldn't quite make out in the deepening darkness. "Viggo, what are you...?"

But he trailed off as Viggo pulled something off over his head. Briefly silhouetted against the last dying embers of the sun, Dom saw something dangling on a leather thong, and he knew what it was. Remembered the trip, just one more random trip on a day off, to a local marketplace somewhere, where they sold what Orlando dismissed as 'standard ethnic tourist wank'. He'd made fun of Viggo, buying the little piece of carved jade, threaded on a leather thong. It was called a tiki, Viggo replied, unruffled as ever, and maybe it was just the usual tourist piece of junk, but if he wore it while filming, then it would have real significance as a souvenir, wouldn't it? Memory was what you made of it.

And that was the last that had ever been said about it, and Liv hadn't been on that excursion, so Dom did his best to look blank, and said: "What's that?"

"A reminder," Viggo declared. He took Dom's hand, turned it palm up, and lowered the dangling tiki carefully, eventually covering it with his own palm. "A reminder that I'm here. Even if I'm not there."

Dom looked up quickly, caught the quirking edge of Viggo's smile. Replied with a smile of his own. "Thank you."

"My pleasure," Viggo murmured. He turned to look back at the dark street, but his palm was still over Dom's, the tiki smooth and solid between them. It was kind of nice, Dom admitted. Unquestioning contact. The sort of thing girls could do. Guys couldn't. Just randomly holding hands wasn't a male thing. Then again, Viggo was doing it.

With a girl, Dom. You're a girl, remember?

"I should go," he said, and Viggo's palm lifted. Dom curled his fingers around the tiki, the leather tie slipping between his knuckles. He shifted, stood up.

Viggo leaned back against the steps as Dom descended. Waited until Dom was halfway down the path before calling after him: "Let me know when you want to drink the wine." As Dom paused, turned to look back at him, just a pale shape against the rest of the dark, he added: "It was meant to be shared."

Dom tightened his grip on the tiki, and smiled in the dark. "I will."

*

In the light of the next day, Dom looked at the tiki. Really looked at it; turned it over and over in his hands and examined it minutely. It was carved out of a small, rounded oblong of some grey-green stone. Dom assumed it was jade, but he knew as much about that sort of thing as he knew about wine. It was a carved face, he realised, tilting it to catch the light through the window. An ugly face, with heavy slanting lines and a grimacing expression. Almost hideous. Very Maori.

The leather cord it was on had sliding knots for adjustment. Viggo had worn it short, resting at his collarbone. Dom lengthened the cord, let it hang further down. Once he got dressed, it was hidden entirely under his T-shirt.

It wasn't that he was ashamed of it, Dom rationalised. If he was ashamed, he wouldn't wear it. The slightly-cool feel of it against his skin _was_ reassuring. He just didn't want to have to explain it, especially to the hobbits. This was his business. His and Viggo's.

Dom wasn't shooting at all that day. He was the property of the wardrobe department until lunch. Liv had said she really enjoyed these sessions, outfitting Arwen. Like dress-up, she declared. Dom hadn't particularly appreciated his own time with wardrobe, and wasn't looking forward to going through it again. He was bored. Bored already, and all he'd done so far was start stripping out of his street clothes. Not even the fact he was down to (lacy) underwear in front of full-length mirrors promised any interest; the thrill of a female body up close and very personal had waned remarkably quickly. He was practically used to it. Almost used to looking in the mirror, seeing breasts and curves and softness, and thinking: "Me."

"The necklace too, dear," the distracted wardrobe woman said, doing something with a swathe of dark red material.

Dom lifted the tiki over his head, ran a finger over the carving thoughtfully before he set it aside.

Maybe, since he was stuck in this body, this role, these clothes, he should actually make an effort. Try and see what Liv liked about it. Try and have fun. Memory was what you made of it, Viggo had said, talking about that tiki. Life was what Dom made of it.

As they draped things over him, and pinned this, and marked that, and made him move and turn and pose - as they did all that, Dom did start to see the appeal. His hobbit clothes had never had any purpose beyond making him look hobbit-like. These clothes, though... these were designed to make him look elegant and graceful, flowing and sensual and languid. Well, to make Liv look all those things. But him, too.

Dom turned, watched his reflection, the feminine curve and sway of wispy, draped fabric.

"What do you think?" the wardrobe woman asked critically.

"It's beautiful," Dom declared.

That afternoon, they had the first rough rehearsals for scenes to be filmed in the following weeks. As he waited while others were positioned, Dom jumped at a touch on his neck. Half-turned to see Viggo standing behind and beside him. He'd been moving forward, away from the touch, but he paused, held still while Viggo trailed a finger, just the tip, down his neck, pulled the collar of his shirt away a little, until his fingernail caught in the leather cord.

He smiled. Dom smiled back.

"Right! Now, Liv, you're going to be over here..."


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dom and Viggo drink some wine.

"Whenever I'm alone with you,   
You make me feel like I am whole again."  
The Cure - Lovesong

*

Human beings were amazingly resilient. They could get used to anything. Getting up every morning and being someone else; eventually, it stopped being an issue. You didn't have to shave any more, but you did have to wax (and oh boy, wasn't that fun). You began recognising that face in the mirror as yourself. You began answering to the other name on instinct. You got used to the house around you, and putting on different clothes, and holding yourself a certain way. You stopped having to think about it. It started becoming a part of you. _You_ started becoming a part of it.

Sure, that whole period thing; that sucked. But at least Dom knew when to expect that. The cycle of the Pill cheerfully informed him that it was going to be a good three weeks until he had to worry about it again. He was used to that too; took the little white pill every morning without even thinking about it.

There were lots of things he missed. Like spending time with the hobbits. Sure, he saw them quite frequently, but it was short bursts, conversations over meals, breaks between scenes. They got together every Friday night for drinks and general silliness. Sometimes a lot of silliness. Like two weeks ago, when Elijah had drunkenly confessed to Dom that the reason he'd been so freaked over the whole body-swapping thing was that he had had a crush on Liv.

"Oh," Dom had said, things suddenly making sense. And then, another realisation. "Oh. Well, ah..."

"Don't worry," Elijah declared expansively. "I'm not gonna proposition you or anything. That'd be just too fucking weird. You're, like, a guy."

Like a guy. Like a girl, too. Dom was starting to think that maybe... well, maybe he was just Dom. And kissing Elijah would be too fucking weird, but because he was _Elijah_, not because he was a guy.

Dom had been too drunk to think about that revelation at the time. He tucked it away for further consideration.

In general, though, despite the weekly piss-ups and frequent chats, Dom was starting to miss the in-jokes. The things that developed in an instant and a repetition, and just happened as part of them being together. He wasn't keeping up. It was, he supposed, only natural. He still missed them, though.

That was why he was spending so much time with Viggo. The company was good. It was a relief.

It had started gradually enough. Conversations around the set, and in the cafeteria, talking about the story, and the characters, which turned into longer discussions, after filming and over the phone, of the central themes of the novels, and of life in general.

Viggo had picked the reason before Dom had himself, over the third cup of coffee one afternoon in the cafeteria when they could have gone home already. "Liv, are you lonely?"

Dom had got used to Viggo's insight, his sudden remarks, and didn't even fumble his cup at that one. Frowned slightly into his coffee and considered. "Partly," he admitted. "Sort of." He looked up into Viggo's direct gaze, the one only he had, that seemed to look straight through all the bullshit to the truth. Dom had been worried that he'd see through the Liv exterior to the Dom underneath. But he hadn't yet.

"Is it homesickness?" Viggo asked.

"Not quite," Dom replied. "It's more complicated than that." And, because it suddenly seemed important, he added: "That's not the only reason I spend time with you."

Viggo just smiled, and said nothing. Once, that had made Dom uncomfortable, Viggo's silences, the way he didn't say things, but just watched. He'd felt like he was being measured up, was being found wanting, too flippant, too shallow. Now, he realised that Viggo didn't say things just to have things said, watched because he liked to see. Liked to see everything, liked to know everything that made up a person, or an event. Liked to understand it. Now, Dom was comfortable. More than comfortable. In fact, Viggo's silent regard was reassuring, like the feel of the tiki where he still wore it underneath his shirt.

Dom got used to spending more and more time with Viggo. Got used to knocks on his door at odd hours, and spending long afternoons off sitting in the large, airy room in Viggo's house that was used as a studio. Viggo worked, distracted, busy, vague, while Dom read - a magazine, a book, his script, whatever.

Or sometimes he just watched Viggo work. In the middle of creation, he was remarkably unselfconscious. Clad in old, worn jeans and a paint-spattered T-shirt, he moved around the studio without seeming to think at all about physicality. His gaze was distant, distracted, focussed on something somewhere else. He muttered to himself as his hands moved.

Dom watched him idly, and thought.

He thought about how it was now almost two months since the swap, and he surprised himself at having to think about it, because he'd always known precisely to the day how long it had been.

He thought about Elijah laughing about having a crush, about not kissing him because he was _Elijah_, and it would be kind of like kissing his brother.

He thought about when he had flashes of despair or frustration or... yes, of loneliness, and then he shifted and the little carved tiki on its leather cord around his neck moved against his skin. It was like reassurance, a warm glow, a feeling that he was capable of this. Of enjoying it, even. That memory was what you made of it, and Viggo was there for him, solid and unquestioning and whatever he needed.

He thought about the night before, when they'd been sitting in Dom's living room, drinking hot chocolate and not really watching bad New Zealand television. It had been a long, tiring day, and Viggo had offered a foot massage, working the tension out of the balls of Dom's feet with long sweeps of his thumbs. Afterwards, Dom left his feet on the cushion in Viggo's lap, too comfortable to move. Viggo slouched, his forearm draped over Dom's ankles. The conversation had just been a long collection of non sequiturs, of vague comments without context, passed back and forth slowly.

Dom hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time. His feet didn't hurt any more, and the chocolate was wonderfully hot and smooth, and whenever Viggo laughed at something Dom said he made the cushion shift, and Dom had felt that same warm glow.

He'd felt it again that morning, even without Viggo there, just looking into the living room and remembering the previous evening.

"Earth to Liv?" Dom blinked, looked up to see Viggo grinning at him, wiping his hands on a rag. "I thought you'd gone to sleep with your eyes open."

Dom smiled, stretched in the armchair, not uncurling his legs. He liked the way this body folded up like that. "I was just thinking."

"What about?" Viggo crouched down easily beside the chair. He was always so terribly at ease with his body. Dom envied him that, a little. Dom had never been that comfortable, not even in his own body.

Dom considered. His fingers crept up to his collar, pulled the tiki out from underneath. "About this, sort of. I... I don't think I need it any more."

Viggo continued looking at him. Didn't jump to any conclusions. Viggo was like that. "Why not?" he asked quietly.

"Because." Dom paused to think, was having surprising difficulty lining his thoughts up with Viggo's eyes staring at his. "Because I don't need a reminder any more. I know that you're there." He drew the leather cord over his head, blinking at the sudden absence he felt.

Viggo leaned forward, balancing himself with his forearm across the arm of the chair. His other hand came up to take the tiki as Dom held it out. His fingers tangled in the leather cord, twined in between Dom's, the carved stone between their palms again.

"I'm glad," Viggo murmured. His eyes flickered over Dom's face, and Dom was suddenly aware of their hands clasped together, of the failing light outside, the tightening gloom in the studio, of being so close he could feel Viggo's breath as a faint breeze on his face.

Viggo leaned forward. Dom didn't lean back.

Viggo's lips pressed at the corner of Dom's mouth, not tentative, but testing. Giving Dom the opportunity to pull back, if he wanted.

He didn't want. He turned his head, slid his lips against Viggo's. Tilted his head and let his lips part like they wanted to, chasing the warm glow. Viggo leaned in more, mouth slanting and deepening and there was the taste of him in Dom's mouth, in Viggo's mouth, where their tongues touched and slipped. Dom was trembling, he realised; the faintest of shivers, under his skin.

When Viggo finally pulled back, Dom felt a sigh escape his parted lips, and he opened his eyes - when had they closed? - to meet Viggo's amused gaze.

"My knees are killing me," Viggo declared. And then they were laughing, and he stood up, and the moment was past.

But not gone. It was still there the next day, when Dom was eating a hurried lunch with the hobbits, laughing and carrying on, and he felt a hand pressed briefly against his shoulder, high on his back, then gone, and when he turned, Viggo was walking past, a fleeting smile over his shoulder.

It was still there the day after, when Dom stood with the other spectators on the edge of a Fellowship scene, watching Viggo grit his teeth and become Aragorn, and remembering watching him laugh. Dom missed the weight of the tiki, the feel of the leather cord around his neck. He watched Viggo being Aragorn; they both had that same ease in their own skins. Dom wondered what their secret was.

And it was still there on the third day, when Dom got home late and exhausted, staggered through the door telling himself, mantra-syle, that there was only one more day before he could have the weekend off. The message light was flashing on his answering machine. It was Viggo. He started talking immediately, without a greeting, just the ebb and flow of his voice, with its hypnotic rhythm, as if the machine had begun recording in the middle of a conversation of half-realised associations and rambling thoughts. Dom hadn't turned on any lights but the one in the hall, and he stood in the puddle of light, listening to Viggo's voice, letting it run over him and seep outwards, into the darkened house.

"The sunset was simply beautiful," the message concluded. "And I thought of you."

Dom listened to it twice, and saved it. He picked up the phone and dialled.

On the second ring, he realised that it was probably half past midnight. On the third ring, the phone picked up.

"Hello?"

Dom couldn't help the smile on his face. Over the phoneline, Viggo's voice was somehow even closer, even more intimate. "I got your message. Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Dom wondered if he'd woken Viggo up. He didn't sound disorientated. Viggo never did. "I was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night."

"I'd love to."

He hadn't been fully intending to ask that, but now that it was out, he knew what to say next. "Bring a bottle of wine. Something to share."

Half a beat's pause, and Viggo replied: "I will."

*

"The whole weekend off!" Elijah declared, bouncing with energy as he joined them at the end of the day. "There's nothing for it, we're going to have to get completely shit-faced tonight."

Raucous agreement, and Dom smiled ruefully. "Already got plans," he said vaguely.

Billy hooted. "The elf-princess has a hot date!"

Dom ignored the way his stomach flipped, let himself grin. "Something like that."

Elijah's eyes widened with interest, but Orlando got in first. "Your loss," he declared, slinging an arm around Sean and Liv. He added with a grin; "I was planning on drinking my own weight in lager and kissing anything I could get my hands on."

Dom laughed. "Next time, maybe." He promised to catch up with them the next day, and went home alone.

The house was too big, too empty, and he was getting too damn nervous. He was glad when, as the sun was setting, vibrant rays slanting through the kitchen window, there came a knock on the door.

"It's open!" he called, suddenly far more interested in the shallots he was chopping. He kept his eyes down as he listened to the door opening, closing again. "In here!" he added, and listened again - chop, chop, chop - to quiet footsteps along the hall carpet, and then on the tiles of the kitchen, and now he really couldn't look up.

With a heavy glass sound, a bottle of wine was set down on the bench beside him, inside his field of vision. Dom's hand stilled on the knife as he read the label. Penfolds Bin 128 Coonawarra Shiraz. Beside him, a voice he thought he'd recognise anywhere said: "It was meant to be shared."

Dom looked up, met Viggo's eyes with a smile. "Hello."

Viggo smiled back. "Hello."

From there, it was almost easy. Viggo opened the wine. Liv's wineglasses were large. They looked right in Viggo's hands. He handed one to Dom, and they clinked the rims together in silence before taking the first sip. It _was_ a good wine. Even Dom, who knew nothing about wine, could tell that. It was broad and fruity, slid across his tongue sweetly, finished with a faint bite.

They drank in the kitchen while Dom finished cooking. They drank and talked, easy and laughing and rambling. Viggo shed his shoes, and rolled his sleeves up. He leaned against the cupboards, not moving when Dom had to squeeze past him. The last rays of the sun disappeared over the horizon, and they had to turn on the light, cocooning themselves in light as darkness fell outside. It was somehow more comfortable in the kitchen, and when Dom finished cooking they just stayed there, sitting side-by-side on the bench, eating the laksa Dom had made from large bowls. It went quickly, and Viggo slid off the bench to put the empty bowls in the sink. He poured the last of the wine into their glasses, leaned against the cupboards opposite Dom and turned that silent regard on him again.

"What?" Dom laughed. His skin was tingling; wine and Viggo's eyes. He took another sip, not breaking eye contact over the rim. Viggo said nothing. "What?" he repeated, more soberly.

"You've changed in the past couple of months," Viggo said, setting down his wine glass, and Dom suddenly felt horrifically sober. He opened his mouth, but Viggo kept talking. "And I like it."

Dom's mouth was still open. And dry. "You do?"

Viggo took a step forward, took Dom's wineglass out of his hand and set it beside the other one. "I do," he stated, leaning his hands on the bench, one on either side of Dom's knees. Dom would swear that there was something in his eyes. Hesitation. Uncertainty, even. Then he shifted, reached into his pocket to pull something out. "I want you to keep this. As a reminder."

Dom looked down, at the carved tiki tangled in its leather cord, lying on Viggo's callused palm in the small space between them. He placed his palm over the top, curling his fingers around the stone, as he smiled up at Viggo. "I don't need a reminder," he repeated. "But I want to keep it."

Tired of talking. One hand curled tighter around the stone, and the other tangled in the hair at the nape of Viggo's neck, pulled him closer and down, tilted his head and their mouths met, already open, tongues pushing, the mingling taste of the wine that was meant to be shared. They shared it. Viggo's hands shifted, gripped Dom's hips and drew him forward. Dom let his knees slip apart, slide against Viggo's hips as he was pulled against him with the rasping slide of denim.

The tiki was still in his hand, and Dom let it slip out onto the bench; he had better things to be doing with that hand. Like sliding it over Viggo's shoulder, down his back, holding him closer as the kiss shifted, deepened. Dom had never been kissed like this. He'd kissed girls before, and even the most bold and adventurous of them had never demanded with the same casual arrogance. That made Dom wonder, fleetingly, if he should be more gentle. If he shouldn't strain against Viggo like this, shouldn't grip his neck and hold him and tangle his tongue in his mouth. If he should kiss more like a girl.

But he didn't want to. He wanted to chase that warm glow that flooded him through Viggo's lips against his, and Viggo's body against his, and Viggo's hands pushing up from his waist under the shirt he was wearing. Pushing up and over the lace of his bra and then a thumb crept underneath, across the swell of breast, and when it found the nipple, the warm glow flashed into molten heat. Dom pushed forward, and whimpered - fucking _whimpered_ \- into Viggo's mouth.

"Liv," Viggo murmured against Dom's lips. _No_. Yes. Whatever.

The thumb moved again, and Dom gasped. "Upstairs. Now."

Viggo pulled Dom off the bench, their mouths back in contact, tight against each other, but they had to separate to move. Not too much, though. They left Dom's shirt in the kitchen, and he shivered at cool air and Viggo's hands against his skin. Viggo's shirt was dropped in the hall, and his jeans on the stairs, stumbling and laughing against each other, hands smoothing over bare flesh, trails of tongue-spread saliva. Dom's jeans were shed in the bedroom door, and they left a trail of underwear to the bed.

It was weird, but the oddities occurred to Dom, and slid past, fell away. It was weird, but at the same time, it was amazingly right. It wasn't a male body under his hands, hard, muscled planes, or rather it was, but it was _Viggo's_. Viggo's hands over his own body, smoothing over curves and into creases, teaching him things he hadn't guessed about this body he'd been living in for two months. Dom arched under Viggo's hands, eternally surprised, but handled him with familiarity, swallowed Viggo's moan. Wanted. Needed. _Insisted_.

And this was what it was like for women. All inside, all internal, the reverse feeling to that he knew well, but still familiar, this tingling under his skin and the tightening coil inside, all inside. Like sweet, blessed pressure building, with Viggo moving above him, inside him, with him and his mouth at Dom's throat, his breasts, and Dom's fingernails digging into Viggo's back, and he shuddered, splintered apart and imploded, inside his own skin, with Viggo's name on his lips.

He heard the wrong name in return. "Liv." Gasped and broken.

Like a blade through his tumbling euphoria, and he had to grab Viggo, had to kiss him deep to stop himself saying something, saying everything. Had to kiss him deep in the hope that tongue-to-tongue could communicate it, Viggo could realise, that direct gaze could see through to Dom underneath.

Viggo kissed back, deep but slow and sweet, and they settled, tangled in each other and the sheets, shifting only enough to be out of the wet spot. Viggo kissed him back, holding him gently, pulling back a little to whisper: "That was spectacular. _You_ were spectacular."

You. Him. Dom. Yes. And he remembered his conversation in the lift with Liv, two months ago.

"What belongs to me?" she'd asked.

"You," he'd told her.

In return, she'd asked: "Yeah, but what's me?"

He knew, now. You were _you_. You were whatever you did, and everything you took in, and whatever you allowed yourself to be. Memory was what you made of it. You were what you made of it. You were the person you felt when he looked you in the eye and held you close and said _you_.

"Thank you," Dom said, and smiled, happy and sleepy. His eyelids were starting to droop. He snuggled against Viggo's warmth, cheek against his shoulder, arms warm around him, and drifted.

Somewhere, some time, in the haze, he felt Viggo moving out from beside him, and made a small sound of protest deep in his throat.

Viggo chuckled, pressed lips against Dom's temple, and he liked that. Wanted to open his eyes to see Viggo's eyes again, but that was far too hard. "Sleep, love."

"Stay," Dom managed to mumble.

Lips against his temple again, lingering this time, and a hand on his hair. "Next time." A promise whispered.

"Next time," Dom repeated, lips barely moving, but curved into a smile.

And that was really the last thing he remembered.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of the madness. How on earth can I possibly manage it, you ask? Read on...

"If this isn't making sense, it doesn't make it lies."  
Soundgarden - Superunknown

*

The thing _was_, Dom was really fucking certain he hadn't set the alarm. He hadn't had the chance, what with the sex - and _there_ was a nice memory, one to stretch his lips in a sleepy smile - and the falling asleep afterwards. And anyway, he wouldn't have done something as fucking stupid as setting the alarm on his weekend off.

But there it was, happily beeping away, and in a minute, he'd work up the energy to open his eyes, and roll over and switch it o-

The alarm stopped.

Dom's eyes snapped open. There was movement in the bed, behind him, but Viggo had gone home last night, and it wasn't his voice that said, rough and grumbling: "Sodding hell, Liv."

By the last word, Dom was out of bed, three staggered paces away, breathing hard and fast. He turned to face the bed, and the sole remaining, tousled occupant. Who was looking at him quizzically. "Liv?"

Dom's reeling mind grasped something, a straw floating past in the maelstrom, and he gasped, raised his hands.

_His_ hands.

He looked down. He was only wearing boxers above hairy legs. His chest was bare. And flat.

He looked up again, and found his voice. "Orlando?" _His_ voice. It sounded almost wrong coming out of his mouth.

Orli was pretty quick for that time of the morning. It only took a second for his eyes to clear from confusion to realisation. "_Dom_?"

That was about the point where Dom's legs gave way, and he sat down on the floor. Hard.

*

First things first. First, he'd deal with the fact that he was back in his body. _Then_ he'd think about other things.

Like why, precisely, Orlando had been in his bed. Practically naked. All night.

Shut up. Not going to think about that until he'd had a cup of tea. If he could _find_ any fucking tea.

"What the hell is with this shit?" Still rummaging through the cupboard with one hand, he held out a packet with the other.

Someone took it from his hand. He didn't see who; he was busy in the cupboard. There had to be some motherfucking tea in here _somewhere_.

"Oh." Billy's voice, bleary, accent broader than usual. He'd been woken up by the thud of Dom hitting the floor, which had been a good ten minutes ago. He wasn't as good at mornings as Orlando, though, and still didn't seem to be in his body. "Aye, that's Liv's herbal tea. Smells nice."

"I don't want it to smell nice," Dom declared, voice echoing in the cupboard. "I want it to be sodding _tea_. Ah-hah!" He retreated out of the cupboard, holding a half-full box of teabags. He checked the label. "Total bollocks, but it'll have to do." He switched the kettle on. "God, I have a terrible headache."

"Not surprised," Orlando commented from the other side of the kitchen. At least he was wearing clothes now. Clothes which had been on the floor of Dom's room. Not thinking about this yet! "You had a lot to drink last night."

Dom opened a cupboard, looking for mugs. Wrong cupboard. Wrong house. Where did they keep the mugs here? Oh yeah, he remembered. "_I_ only had a couple of glasses of wine." Good wine. Great wine. And then he fucked Viggo. Not thinking about that, either. Think about that _much_ later. "Why the fuck do I have to put up with Liv's damn hangover?" As the kettle boiled, he opened the fridge. Ah, juice. Heavensent.

He drank straight from the bottle, and Billy suddenly laughed. Dom lowered the bottle, looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Now I know you're back," Billy declared.

Dom swallowed the juice, grinned back at Billy as the kettle started to whistle. "Yeah," he said. "I'm back."

Yeah. He was.

His eyes strayed across the kitchen to Orlando. So now he supposed he had to think about that. And then about Viggo. Bugger. He really needed that cup of tea.

Mug, teabag, boiling water. Hardly rocket science, but even simply the scent of the rising steam was starting to make Dom feel better. Swirling the bag in the water, Dom turned back to the kitchen. "We should have a chat," he said to Orlando.

Billy took the hint. "I'm off to shower."

Orlando yawned, reached for the juice bottle. "Out on the balcony? S'nice out there." He didn't wait for an answer, just led the way.

It _was_ nice out on the balcony, with the sun not too far above the horizon, and the neighbourhood still quiet. The screaming kids wouldn't be awake for hours. Clever kids.

They sat on either side of the picnic table that'd come with the house. Big wooden monstrosity. Dom was always afraid it'd give him a splinter somewhere very uncomfortable. His tea was almost steeped enough. Orlando was sipping from the bottle, squinting up the street.

"So," Dom started, fishing his teabag out with a spoon, squeezing it with the string. "You want to tell me what the hell happened last night?"

Orlando turned back, shrugged with that typical Orli-smile. "We went out and possibly had a little bit too much to drink," he offered. "Liv mentioned that she hadn't, yanno, got a leg over since the whole switch thing, and that she was really curious about what it was like for a guy, but she didn't want to do it with anyone who didn't know what the situation was."

Dom took a mouthful of tea. Oh, that was good. "So you volunteered your services?" Orli just raised an eyebrow. Well, yeah, it was obvious from the fact that he was still here. Jesus. This body had slept with Orlando less than twelve hours ago. Dom wondered who'd been on top. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask. But he _did_ want to know... "Why?"

Orlando shrugged. And look at that, he was uncomfortable. Dom could tell from the way he tilted his head. After learning to understand Viggo's body language, everyone else just about screamed. Not thinking about that yet. Orlando looked back at him, his smile small and rueful. "Well, I sorta, well... had this crush. On, like, you."

Dom blinked, his mug stopped halfway to his mouth. "Huh? But... you never said... or did..."

Orli had one leg drawn up on the chair, seemed to be thoroughly interested in his toenails. "Yeah, well, you weren't interested in me like that, yanno. No big deal. I respected you, though. Too much to just, like, wind you up for a one-time shag or anything. But Liv, well, she wasn't you, now was she?" Orlando squinted up at him. "But it was your body, and I figured, why the hell not? Just for a laugh."

Dom drank his tea, and thought about that. No, he wasn't interested in Orli like that, like he wasn't interested in Lij like that, but... "Hang on, you didn't think I was interested in _you_. Not that I was straight?"

Orlando pulled a face, finished the last of the juice. "I don't believe in that designated sexuality bollocks. Total crap. Relationships are between people, not... not... I dunno. Gender representatives. That's just fucked. You fall in love with people, not -"

"Plumbing," Dom provided.

"Yeah." Orli grinned at him across the table. "Yeah, not plumbing."

Dom drank his tea, and thought about that, too. "Orli, I think you might just be the coolest person I know."

Orlando laughed out loud. "Mate, considering the people you know, I think that's the biggest compliment anyone's ever paid me. But Dom?"

"Yeah?"

"Please stop sitting like that."

Dom looked down. At his carefully crossed legs. And burst out laughing.

*

The phone picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello, Liv Tyler speaking."

"And don't you sound smug about it."

"Dom!" she practically squealed. "Welcome back!"

He was grinning, couldn't help it. "You too."

"I was going to ring you, but I got caught up in cleaning. You left this place in a fucking mess!" She didn't sound mad at all.

"And I've got your fucking hangover, so don't whinge to me. If I'd known we were going to be swapping back, I'd have changed your mobile phone to Arabic and all."

"Bastard. You even left dishes in the sink!"

Oh, yeah, the dishes. The wineglasses. Last night. "Um, Liv, I guess I should probably tell you that -"

"You and Viggo did the wild thing last night. The sheets are in the wash right now. _Now_ aren't I glad I made you keep taking the Pill."

Dom laughed. There was no other response. Liv was like that. "Meanwhile, Orlando and I sorted everything out, thanks."

Her turn to laugh. "Yeah, well. Guess we both got some last night. Maybe that was the magic trigger for the switch back."

"Remind me never to have sex the same time as you."

"We'll co-ordinate our schedules."

They laughed together, sheer relief and delight.

"Seriously, Dom," Liv said, and he shifted, leaning against the wall. "Is everything fine?"

He thought about people, and plumbing. "I don't know. Hope so."

"Well, if you need me, you know where I live."

He grinned. "Yeah, I do. Listen, Liv, we're going out for a drink tonight. You know, to celebrate. Coming?"

"No way! For the first time in two months I don't have to do out and be one of the guys. I'm going to stay home and pamper myself!"

Dom laughed. "Well, you have fun."

"You too. I'll catch up with you sometime during the week. We can swap horror stories and go through everything then."

"Sounds good."

*

They went to the usual pub, and after the first pint, they didn't feel quite so seedy anymore. After the second, they were starting to feel positively merry again. Elijah kept hugging Dom at random, usually squealing: "You're baaack!" in the process. After they started playing pool, Dom figured he was just doing it as a diversionary tactic. When he suggested that, Elijah laughed, and stole a gulp out of his beer. "I owe you," he stated. "For the whole breasts thing."

Dom supposed he had a point.

"Hey, look." Sean nudged Dom, sloshing the beer in his glass, already too far down to spill. "Bean and Viggo are here, too."

Dom couldn't help it; he was turning before Sean had even finished the sentence, looking across the crowded pub to the corner the older actors preferred. He saw Bean, only here for a little while longer, and Hugo, and there was Cate, laughing her head off. Then someone in the crowd shifted slightly, and there he was. Viggo.

Viggo smiled, and raised his hand in a brief wave. Dom felt his answering smile was too quick, too broad, too _Liv_; he'd got used to smiling a lot. Beside him, Sean grinned like a loon, waved manically, and Viggo laughed.

It was indescribable, the way Dom felt watching Viggo laugh. Indescribable, but he tried anyway.

Euphoric. Distant and distracted. Like his breath stopped, but he kept moving.

Drunk. No, not quite. He looked down into his almost-empty glass. Not quite, but it was a short trip from here. What was he waiting for?

"Oi." It was Billy, nudging him and handing him the cue. "Your break."

Later, after many games and many beers, it was his round, and he was playing finger percussion on the bar in random rhythms, nodding his head and waiting for the bartender to finish drawing the beers. The world was, finally, a fuzzy place, and he didn't have to think about anything until tomorrow morning.

Unless, of course, Viggo slid into the space next to him at the bar. Which was exactly what happened.

But who cared, really, when the world was such a lovely, fluffy place, and Viggo was offering him a smile that was nothing like the one he gave to Liv, but close enough. Dom smiled back, unable to stop the warmth in his face. "Hey, Viggo."

"Hey. How's filming going?" Viggo asked, and Dom burst out laughing.

"I have _no idea_!" he declared, and then he was laughing again at the bemused expression on Viggo's face. He had to look away from that direct gaze, because Viggo could see too much, even if he never saw Dom before.

He dropped his gaze to the collar of Viggo's shirt, which he figured was fairly safe. And it was, until Viggo shrugged, and turned to wave down a barman. The movement pulled his collar away from his throat, and then Dom's breath did stop. He could barely hear Viggo ordering ("Two brown ales, a Stella and a dry cider") because there was a mark on Viggo's neck. It was down the side, almost at his shoulder, darkening against his skin. And Dom remembered putting it there. Remembered pushing Viggo back, sliding a trailing hand down his body, and his lips down his neck, fingers and teeth gripping at the same time, and Viggo's breath rattling in his throat under Dom's mouth. Dom remembered the taste of Viggo's sweat on his tongue as he sucked it away, sucked the blood to the surface.

His hand was moving before he even thought about it, independent of thought, and Dom only realised it when his fingers touched Viggo's neck, and Viggo turned, startled, to look at him.

Dom blinked. Oh yeah, and the whole personal space thing. Different for men and women. Women could touch men casually in ways men just couldn't. He drew his hand back hurriedly. "Sorry. Sorry." Needed something other than an apology. "There was a mark on your neck." Shit! Not that.

Viggo shrugged, a little uncomfortably. "Oh, ah. Yeah." But he didn't offer an excuse. Changed the subject. "How's the weekend off going?"

Small talk. Fucking small talk. Three days ago Viggo had confided his concerns about not being a good enough father. Tonight they were making polite fucking small talk. Dom laughed bitterly. How was it going? "Frankly, I was expecting it to be better." Two months, and he was in his own body again, and all he wanted was to go back to last night, even before anything happened. Back to sitting in his kitchen, eating laksa with Viggo.

Except it wasn't his kitchen.

"I miss you already."

And again, he hadn't wanted to say that out loud, hadn't realised he had until Viggo raised an eyebrow, said, "What?"

He had a moment of searing, blinding panic, and then deliverance arrived. "Because here are the drinks, and I'm going to have to leave you." He gathered up the drinks - _five_ at once, this time, and no one even blinked - and grinned. Just typical mad, drunk Dom. Nothing to see here. "Can you handle the separation?"

Viggo was chuckling, not like the way he'd laughed with Liv, not at all. "I'll manage." He turned back to the bar before Dom was even gone.

He'd manage. Dom wasn't so sure he could. He fucking hated it already.

He deposited the drinks on their table, snatched one up and downed a third of it in one gulp.

"Easy, tiger," Sean laughed, as he came up for air.

"Don't let me talk to Viggo again tonight, OK?" Dom stated.

"What?" Sean looked confused, turned his whole attention away from Elijah and Orlando wrestling over the white ball. "Talk to Viggo?"

Dom took a deep breath, looking down at his beer. "Just... don't let me talk to him. Tie me down. Knock me out. Whatever."

When he looked up, Sean was looking at him like he was mad. Maybe he was. Surely he had reason enough. But Sean just shrugged. "Sure thing."

And that, Dom supposed, was what friends were for, after all.

*

Friends were also for helping you get home at two in the morning, when you'd forgotten the meaning of a straight line, but could remember all the words to "Diamonds are a girl's best friend" and were busy regaling the neighbourhood with them.

Billy was laughing when he eventually dropped Dom on his bed. "It's good to have you back, Dom. Noisy, but good."

Dom wrapped his arms around Billy's neck, pulled him down to plant a smacking kiss on his forehead. "Missed you, Bill."

Billy laughed more, and disentangled himself. "Missed you too. Daft git."

Dom rolled over, snuggling up to his pillow, and was nearly out when he heard Billy say: "Why didn't you want to talk to Viggo?"

Because. Because I _want_...

But Dom couldn't finish the thought, and wasn't sure if he'd said anything out loud. Sleep claimed him.

*

Friends were also for having the tea ready when you staggered out of bed late the following morning, hungover as hell.

"You're a God," he croaked, eagerly accepting the mug.

"You're running out of tea," Billy replied, amused.

*

Dom _was_ running out of tea, so when he got off early on Monday afternoon, he took the chance to go shopping.

It would have been better, he mused as he wandered up and down the aisles, if he'd got off early because everything had been going well. But no, he was still stuck halfway between Liv and himself, and he was so damn distracted, and he couldn't get a fucking thing right. PJ had told him he'd be able to act better with his head up his own arse, and frankly, Dom had to agree with him.

The problem, he rationalised, was fucking Viggo.

Yes, fucking Viggo. Precisely.

To top it all off, there was an off-license just outside the supermarket. Well, not quite an off-license. More a wine shop, really. It was called "The Wineseller", and there was a Penfolds' display in the window.

Before Dom knew it, he was inside, and two minutes after that, he was walking out with a bottle of Penfolds Bin 128 Coonawarra Shiraz. The girl behind the counter hadn't looked at him like it was anything unusual, anything special. Nothing at all for Dominic Monaghan to ask for a wine by name. Dom felt a bit like his head was on backwards. Like he was damning himself. He didn't even wait for a bag, just left his change and grabbed the bottle by the neck and fled.

It was supposed to be shared. He wanted to share it. Wanted it so bad he could taste it, like the memory of rich, fruity wine and someone else's saliva in the back of his mouth.

Fuck.

He walked home, trying to ignore the weight of the wine in his hand, balancing out the plastic shopping bag in the other. Distracted himself. Had he forgotten anything he needed to buy? Tea, yes, lots of tea. Oranges. Razor blades. Some of that dark chocolate with almonds he knew Billy loved but would never buy for himself, new soap because he'd actually really liked the smell of the stuff Liv used. Wine.

Fuck.

There were two kids pelting down the footpath outside his house - and yes, it was the right one, he'd made certain he was heading in the right direction - sitting on their skateboards and screaming at each other. He dodged out of their way, laughing, watched them disappear down the road, curving around the corner as he turned it at the front gate.

Which was why it came as such a shock when he looked up and realised someone was sitting on the front steps.

"Viggo!"

Fuck!

He was sitting still, almost hidden in the lengthening shadows of the afternoon. His eyes were downcast, fixed on something he was fidgeting with. Dom made himself continue walking up the path, until he was at the bottom of the stairs. Déjà vu. Been here before, looking up at Viggo.

Viggo looked up at him. "Even when I try thinking it through, nothing's making sense." That was all Viggo. No greeting, just straight into the existentialism. "I'm not even sure why I'm here, but if nothing else is making sense, and neither do I, maybe I'll start to understand. What's in the bottle?"

Oh, shit, the bottle. Dom looked down, breathed a sigh of relief that he was holding it against his leg, the label turned away from Viggo. "Oh, just some wine. For cooking." Inspired. Now, move the conversation forward. What the hell was Viggo doing on his front steps? "You, ah, want to come in or something, Viggo?"

"No, I think I'd rather discuss this out here."

"Discuss what?" Confused, innocent, not at all having sinking doubts and wishing, praying, he was somewhere else. Yep, Dom was fucking superb. He deserved an Oscar right here and now.

Viggo looked down at his hands again. What was he playing with, anyway? Some sort of cord thing. Leather, with something attach- Oh, _fuck_. But then Viggo looked up again, caught Dom's gaze, and Dom schooled his face to stillness. Viggo always saw too much. "I'm not really sure," Viggo began, voice so quiet and thoughtful. "There're just discrepancies. Everything was... now suddenly nothing makes sense. Things. Like our conversation the other night, at the bar."

Keep your face blank. After controlling Liv's features for so long, his own were a breeze. Viggo had never seen past that, Dom reminded himself with a trace of bitterness. Why should he start seeing past it now? "To tell you the truth, I don't remember most of that night. I was completely rat-arsed." Half-true, at least.

Viggo nodded slowly, his eyes still on Dom's, and Dom couldn't look away. He felt like he was walking on a tightrope. Don't look down.

"I've been asking impossible questions," Viggo said, and his voice was even more quiet now, as if he was talking to himself. "Thinking impossible thoughts." He raised his hand, the leather cord tangled in his fingers, the tiki dangling just below his palm. "Liv gave this back."

Dom's mouth was dry. He couldn't look away, though he had no idea what might be showing in his own eyes. There were things he should be saying, he knew, more innocent things, but what came out of his mouth was: "She gave it back?"

"Mhm." Viggo nodded slightly. The tiki swayed a little, like he was trying to hypnotise Dom. Dom was already hypnotised. "She came up, gave me one of those big, flashy, winning smiles, and told me I'd left it at her place by accident."

By accident. The words went through Dom like a knife. The words were too much. Dom had to look away, had to close his eyes, but the darkness was no refuge because could still hear Viggo's voice, low and insistent and running over him like whiskey over ice.

"Dom. Show me the bottle of wine."

Dom opened his eyes, looked up at Viggo _looking_ at him, that direct gaze of his, and he'd done it. He'd seen through it, seen through Dom.

Dom felt surprisingly calm, centred, like he was still and the world was moving, as he lifted the bottle, turned it so the label faced Viggo. He'd been here before, holding out a bottle at the bottom of the steps.

Then, Viggo had told him it was meant to be shared, had offered to open it. Dom doubted that would happen now.

Now, Viggo read the label, face blank like he was contemplating milk. And then dropped his head into his hands. Ran fingers already tangled in the forgotten tiki through his hair. Curled up, he edged sideways, slid across the step until there was space next to him. "Sit down," he offered.

Dom did. Climbed the steps and settled beside Viggo, brushed hips and shoulders together as he shifted to set his shopping on the step below, nestled between his feet.

"Tell me," Viggo ordered, quiet and definite.

So Dom did. Just started talking, about waking up in someone else's body, the sheer blinding panic, the anger, the slow growth to numbness that bled into acceptance you barely noticed until one day you woke up and suddenly you could meet your own eye in the mirror without flinching. And staring out from his front steps, out into the horizon that started to bruise as somewhere to his right the sun began to set, Dom talked about missing his old life, and about finding a new one. About finding someone he'd never expected.

His voice trailed off into the sunset air, vibrating gold. He still didn't look at Viggo as he added, "I don't think I would have made it through the past two months without you."

Still nothing, and Dom cleared his throat, asked, "How did you figure it out?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw Viggo shrug, eyes still focussed down, on his tangled fingers and the leather cord threading between them. "Suddenly Liv calls me Viggo, not Vig, and then it's changed again. It's all gone, and I swear I recognise that look in someone else's eyes. Little things." He spread out his hands, and the tiki slipped off his palm. He twisted his hand, flipped it back onto his palm. He was staring at it so closely that Dom felt safe to watch him openly.

"It's weird," Dom stated. "I'm sorry. I've had two months to get used to it. You've had two minutes."

Viggo looked up at him, and Dom was caught unawares by those eyes, by the gaze. Time passed.

Then Viggo looked down at his hand between them, palm up, the tiki lying amidst its tangled leather cord. "What are we going to do with this?"

Dom hesitated a moment, then lay his hand on top. Viggo didn't pull away. "Memory is what you make of it," he said quietly.

"What?"

Dom smiled slightly, looking down at his hand over Viggo's. "That's what you said when you bought it."

"You remember?"

"It's been something of a personal motto for the past two months." There was silence, then, and Viggo still didn't move his hand, so Dom pressed on. "You gave it to me as a reminder. I don't need a reminder. But..."

"But maybe I do."

Dom risked a look at Viggo, but he was staring off, towards the darkening horizon. "You know," Viggo said quietly, that rusty mumble that caught Dom up in all sorts of intimate memories. "You know, in the past two months, I've spent more time with Liv than I ever did before." A moment's pause. "And Liv never asked me to stay."

"Really?" Dom couldn't help it, it was out of his mouth before he thought of it.

Viggo turned, caught his gaze, and Dom couldn't look away again. "Yes. Really." He looked down, then, and Dom followed his gaze to the bottle of wine sitting between his feet. "It should really be shared, you know."

His tone was guarded, and when Dom looked up, he could see the hesitation, the not-quite-yet.

He smiled anyway. "Well, I'll keep it for a special occasion." And his smile broadened. "Just let me know when you want to drink it."

Viggo smiled back. "I will."

He turned back to gaze out at the setting sun, and after a moment, Dom did too. They sat there, palm to palm, with the tiki between. Almost holding hands. The sort of thing girls could do. Guys couldn't.

Dom smiled into the gathering darkness. Who said they couldn't?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to those who sent me lots of feedback and engaged in interesting conversations. You rock my world. I love you all. And this final part is presented with apologies to the Dom/Orli OTP muses of Zarah, and anyone else who may have them. They're all invited to the big Dom/Orli Disappointment Party that my own OTP muses are organising. Bring a bottle.


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